Apache
by shedoc
Summary: What if Blair wasn't lying to Kincade's pilot?
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer – I don't own, I get no money from this, etc

Warning – none

Premise – what if Blair was telling Kincaide's pilot the truth?

Apache

Friday night was poker night at Simon's.

Jim couldn't think of a better end to the week than to sit at a table with his friends and colleagues and play a little friendly poker. Simon's house was very comfortable to Jim. It smelt of cigars and warmth and the under lying spice of Simon's scent. The furniture was solid, neutral colors. The decorations on the walls and bookshelves added the colour to rooms. Photo's adorned every wall - pictures of Daryl and the Banks family and the men and women at Major Crimes.

Taggert and Brown and Rafe sat at Simon's dining room table talking quietly, a beer at their elbows, snacks in easy reach. Simon was in the kitchen, decanting the last of the salsa and Daryl was in the lounge, watching television.

The only thing that would make the night perfect for Jim was if Blair was there too. Blair had a really nasty cold and after the fountain Jim was always worried that his Guide would develop pneumonia again. The damage from the drowning made Blair more susceptible to chest infections. His last cold had turned into bronchitis over night - so Jim had confined Blair to bed as soon as his cold hit. That was only yesterday, but Jim was taking no chances.

Blair had insisted that Jim go to the poker game that night - had insisted rather stridently in fact. Jim's hovering wore old real quick, and though Blair appreciated that his friend only wanted to take care of him Blair could only tolerate so much pampering. It was evident to Jim that adults hadn't really done much for Blair-the-child, leaving Blair-the-adult unsure of how to accept loving care.

So Jim had gone to poker night, leaving Blair on the couch wrapped and propped and within easy reach of the phone and the water Jim had left out.

Simon came back into the dining room and set down the salsa. In the background the television droned on and he glanced at the lounge area - obviously debating whether to go in to ask his son to turn it down little. Daryl had been set a homework assignment that included watching a documentary being shown that night about Desert Storm. Simon hadn't been too keen on the idea of his son watching a show about that but who was he to argue with the modern history teacher?

A trailer for the documentary blared across the room and Simon sighed, shaking his head as he sat down.

"Dad!" Daryl screamed, "It's Blair! Quick Dad - come and look."

Everyone piled through the doorway and stared at the screen and the wriggling teenager.

"…We'll meet the support crews that cared for our troops in the Storm and in particular one of the medi-vac crews that had the misfortune to be shot down while rescuing wounded troops…" the announcer was saying while the screen showed a picture of a modified Apache. In the foreground three people leaned against the chopper. One was a woman in green fatigue pants and shirt. Her hair was very short and she wore tinted sunglasses against the sun that was obviously beating down. The man beside her was heavily muscled, but slender with it. He had a goatee and a bald head and his dark skin shone in the light. The third man was Blair. His hair was short. He wore a singlet and the many-pocketed fatigues that the mechanics Jim had known favored. His dog tags sparkled in the sun and he held one hand up in a characteristic gesture to block the sun from his eyes.

The show cut to a commercial and they looked at each other in shock.

"Hairboy was in the army?" Brown spluttered and Jim stared at Simon in shock. Rafe sat down next to Daryl.

"Is this the show you were supposed to watch?" Simon asked his son, sitting next to the brightly clad youth. He took the remote away and hit the record button for the VCR. The tape that was in there started up with a whir.

"Yeah," Daryl nodded looking shocked. Blair was a secret hero to Daryl - a man who believed in peace and acted on it. A man who refused to let others tell him who to be or how to act, but knew when to conform for the safety of others. A man who was brave and caring, who could be trusted to do what he said he'd do. How could such a man have lied all this time?

Jim stumbled to an armchair and sank into it. He stared at the television blankly while the commercials ran and the others settled around the room to watch.

The commercial ended and the producer appeared; a man in his forties with very carefully done hair, make up and a casual suit. His name appeared in the bottom of the screen, but Jim was too stunned to take it in. His voice was warm and professionally smooth after years of media work. The background behind him was a shot of the base - presumably the one where he'd met Blair.

"My team and I were assigned to the third airborne unit. I had a camera operator and a sound technician and myself. We spent about a week interviewing the regular troops and officers. Then we got permission to travel with a medi-vac crew for a few flights. We first met with the crew of Apache Two a week later. They were a three-person crew. Captain Sarah Finegan was the crew doctor. She was career military and her family was all military before her. Sergeant Max Tallacy had joined the med. corps straight out of high school and worked his way up through the ranks. He was single at the time we met, but has gotten married since. Their pilot was Major Blair Sandburg. He'd been recruited right out of college into the ground support crews well before Desert Storm came along. His superior officers had discovered his talent for flying and trained him in Apaches. Of the three he was the pacifist. Under UN charter medical personnel are to go unarmed into the field, as are their vehicles - Major Sandburg has flown under fire many times - the survival of his crew and passengers relies solely on his expertise in combat maneuvers."

The scene behind the producer enlarged and he faded off the screen. The camera jerked and then began to move. A private stepped into the picture and walked just ahead, obviously leading the camera operator…

"I'm sure that Captain Finegan will be in the supply tent at this time of day, sir," the private's voice cut in abruptly, "She's usually there this time of day to check over the emergency packs the troops are given and re-supply her own gear at the same time."

The camera jolted along between two tents and the private held the flap of a second tent open. Inside it was quiet and still.

"Captain Finegan?" the private called. The tent housed boxes stacked upon each other and labeled clearly with their contents. There was movement among the stacks and then the woman from the photo stepped into view. She was a quick, graceful mover and she glared at the private with extreme disfavor.

"Yes?" she snapped her hands full of sealed dressings. Her voice was flat and hard, as were her eyes.

"This is Mr. Dumas and his team, ma'am. The General asked me to escort them to you. The documentary crew?"

"Shit - is that today? Great! Fantastic! Marvelous!" her voice was at odds with her words and the glare was not welcoming.

"I'm Andrew Dumas," the producer stepped into view. He was wearing borrowed fatigues and a smile. He was obviously not military because his hair was too long and his chin too unshaven. He was smiling at the irate woman charmingly,

"Call me Andy."

Finegan was obviously less than charmed, evinced by the slight roll of her eyes and the set of her mouth.

"Look, Mr. Dumas, I don't have time for this today - come back in a few weeks, ok?" she rapped out, rapidly stowing gear into a pack. A second man came up and showed her the contents of a box. She nodded and started packing them too.

"Call me Andy, and the General insisted that we'd be able to travel with you for a few weeks," Andy smoothed and the private backed out of the picture. Finegan glared at Andy and shook her head, lips pressed tightly together.

"Stay out of my way Andy," she warned, "I've got no time to hold hands."

She shouldered the pack with a nod to the other man and headed out, Andy hurrying close behind and the camera jogging along to keep up. She led the way through the Tent City the airforce was working from to a line of prefabricated sheds. She cut between two of those sheds and stepped out into an airfield. There was a helicopter nearby and she headed for it without pause.

"Is that your bird, Captain?" Andy asked as he hurried along. Finegan shoved the bag inside the open body of the chopper and glared over at Andy in exasperation.

"This is my ride. It's Burg's bird. He should be here … BURG! WHERE ARE YOU?"

"Here - where else would I be?" the voice came from behind and Finegan whirled. A man with short curls, light muscles and wicked blue eyes was perched on the tail of the chopper. He had a tool kit around his waist and no shirt on. He was tanned and full of energetic little movements.

"What are you doing? We're due to fly in less than two hours and you take apart the ride?" Finegan yelled in exasperation and the young man smiled at her brilliantly.

"Take it easy, Captain Sarah. It's a little routine maintenance. Without it we'd be walking home - ok? And it's not a ride - it's a bird," he said in a warm and happy voice. Finegan glared up at him, but there was a twinkle in the glare that hadn't been there before.

"Birds have feathers, Burg. Do you see any feathers here?" she replied with starch. Burg grinned and pulled one out of the tool pouch around his waist, leaned down and tucked it behind her ear.

"I do now," he chuckled and Finegan glared at the laughing man, then joined in too. Andy laughed as well, but you got the sense that he wasn't a part of the joke. Burg straightened up and went back to manipulating the parts of the tail rotor assembly.

"Major Sandburg, I'm Andy Dumas. My team and I are making a documentary about our efforts here and we'll be flying with you on a couple of missions," Andy introduced himself and held up a hand. Burg shook his head and held up black palmed hands.

"Dirty hands, dude," Burg replied, "And like hell you'll be flying with us. I got room for three bodies and my team only - I'm not sacrificing someone's life so you can take pretty pictures."

"The General has Okayed it," Andy smiled harder and Burg snorted. He dropped the housing back into place and slid down to ground level.

"You think waving my superior officer in my face will get me to jump through hoops? You're gonna have to do better than that," Burg growled, "I'll be back Captain Sarah. Sergeant Max said he'd be here in ten minutes with the last of the supplies. We'll do the pre-flight then. And Andy - I'll talk to the General. Maybe he can find us a milk run to take you on."

Burg jogged off towards one of the buildings and Andy frowned over at Finegan. She shrugged at him and folded her arms.

"I'm sorry, Andy. His word is final. After all he flies this thing - I'm a passenger. And you have to admit he has a good reason. How are we supposed to explain to a wounded soldier that you and your camera are more important?" she made her voice sound reasonable and Andy could find no answer to that.

The program logo appeared on the screen and commercials began to roll. Simon's phone rang, as did Jim's cell. Taggert's sounded too followed by Rafe and Brown. Everyone found a colleague on the other end of the line.

All the callers wanted to know if the men were watching and was it really true? Was the hippie ex military? Jim growled and hung up; Brown swore and hung up. Rafe hung up without answering and Taggert made a snide comment before hanging up. Simon's caller was the Chief of Police, so he had to be a little more polite. Of course the Chief would keep tabs on anything affecting his favorite Cop of the Year - including his partner it seemed.

"He's not the Blair I know," Daryl sounded amazed, "He's … Burg, not Blair. But his smile and the way he talks - they're the same. How is that possible?"

"Hairboy has changed a little is all," Brown soothed, "He's grown up a lot since he started hanging out with Ellison."

"I always thought he was so naïve when we first met - you know some academic who'd never seen real life like we had," Taggert admitted heavily, "But now - my God, he's seen things I can't imagine."

"Jim - did you know about this? Did he ever tell you?" Rafe asked in a shocked voice. Jim looked at him with shuttered eyes and shook his head.

"When Kincaid was leaving the PD in the chopper he forced the pilot to land by threatening him with a flare gun," Simon spoke up, remembering the reports suddenly, "The pilot said that Sandburg told him he flew Apaches in Desert Storm."

Kill me and we all go down buddy. 

I don't think so punk. I flew Apaches in Desert Storm. Now turn this thing around! 

The words ran through Jim's head and for a moment he was handcuffed to that helicopter again, with Kincaid hanging off his legs. Blair's voice left no room for doubt or speculation and the pilot had turned around. Jim had dismissed the threat as a lie - told convincingly to save their lives. He hadn't known Blair for long back then but had already formed the impression that truth took on elastic qualities at Blair's hands. He shivered and looked up at Simon in shock.

"He never said anything to me," Jim's voice sounded lost. Daryl looked up at the detective and shook his head.

"I'm not surprised, Jim. How do you tell the best friend who barely survived a helicopter crash that you used to pilot a helicopter yourself? Whatever reason made Blair give it up has to be a pretty big reason. I mean he wouldn't just walk away from a commitment would he? Not the Blair I know," Daryl's voice was matter of fact and Simon took a moment to appreciate that his son was rapidly growing into a man. Jim straightened a little and nodded at Daryl.

The screen rolled off a final commercial and the theme music for the documentary sounded as the logo appeared. Andy Dumas followed, sitting in front of a still shot of a hanger. There was a Red Cross painted on the doors and behind the shed you could see the tents that formed the barracks and offices of the men and women stationed there.

"We missed that first mission. Major Sandburg was right - a wounded soldier was more important than taking pretty pictures. I guess we scored points with the three of them by not pressing for immediate entry. However I was determined to accompany them on their next mission and enlisted the General's help in pushing through our request. While we were waiting for the team on Apache Two to return we did a little background research on the crew," Andy said and smiled, "I'll have to admit at first glance they were a wacky bunch, but then we got to know them."

Andy emerged from the hangar and ignored the camera in favor of turning to speak to the Sergeant beside him. They shook hands and the Sergeant returned to the hangar while Andy went to stand profiled dramatically by the landing field. After a moment a siren sounded in the distance and the emergency crews boiled out of the hangar and took their places around the field. Several choppers came in low and fast, pocked with bullet holes and streaked with oil and dirt.

Apache Two landed near the waiting ambulances and Burg leapt down from his seat to help carry stretchers. Andy began narrating what he saw for the camera, raising his voice to be heard.

"It is not usual for a pilot to help with the casualties - the pilots' one and only responsibility is to the bird they fly and it's maintenance. Major Sandburg is unusual in that he doesn't stay in the closely defined guidelines of his role. The Major was recruited directly from college where he'd just gained his masters in anthropology. He's on a short-term contract with the Air Force. His genius with machines got him promoted to Sergeant and given supply runs to various troops. He was given some bad Intel and was shot down in the desert. He was hunted for four days before managing to return to base with intelligence that later saved lives. He was promoted to Captain for his efforts. The reasons for his promotion to Major remain classified - though rumor says that he saved the lives of thirty soldiers with his courage and tenacity. His wages are clearing his academic debts and he's made no secret of the fact that he intends to return to academia when his hitch is up. Despite that, Major Sandburg is very popular among the people he works with on a daily basis. I think we can see why," Andy half yelled as Burg first caught and then carried a wounded man struggling from Apache Two. Burg's face was grim and shuttered as he moved quickly to the waiting ambulance.

Finegan was running along beside a stretcher - her cotton scrub suit splattered with blood. She was reciting statistics to the male doctor that ran alongside her.

"Captain Finegan graduated top of her class and went straight to the Air Force. Her family has a long history with the armed forces - are in fact enlisted in all three branches. This is her first field assignment. Originally she was a ground-based medic, but two weeks into her time here she went out on an emergency mission and was promoted to field medicine based on her performance under fire. She's been decorated for bravery and her academic work is sought after by several medical journals - some of them civilian publications like the London Lancet," Andy yelled over the noise again as the camera watched Finegan's hands deftly check a dressing and smooth the face of her patient kindly, "She has a brother in the Army stationed out here - they meet whenever their leave coincides."

Tallacy jogged into view, bracing a man on his stretcher as the corps man shuffled rapidly towards the ambulance.

"Sergeant Tallacy joined the Air Force straight out of high school and was found to have an aptitude for emergency medicine. He's working on getting his formal doctorate part time. Tallacy gave his place in Apache Two to a wounded soldier during a recent pick up. He secured himself to the doorframe and stood on the bird's skid for the entire two-hour flight - leaning in to assist with the wounded when he could. It's known around the base as 'Tallacy's Ride'. He was decorated for the feat, but turned down a promotion to head up his own team on the ground - preferring to remain on the front lines with Apache Two and her crew."

Tallacy helped load the stretcher and climbed in behind his patient. Burg slammed the door shut and stood back, hands on hips as the ambulance pulled away. Andy headed over quickly and the camera followed along jerkily.

"Burg!" Andy hailed the pilot who shook himself out of whatever thoughts he'd been having and turned to face the producer.

"Hello Mr. Dumas," Burg's voice was polite, but not enthused. His eyes were shuttered and his body quite still. Andy flashed an expert smile at Burg and it bounced right off the pilot.

"Call me Andy," Andy insisted, "Was this mission a rough one?"

"Routine enough - you know I can't discuss it," Burg's voice was decidedly cooler and Andy nodded rapidly to show his understanding.

"I don't want details," he said hastily, "Just trying to get an idea of a typical day for Apache Two."

"Well typically, I'll clean my bird now and get some maintenance done on her. Not too exciting," Burg turned and headed for the crews that were already unrolling hoses and preparing buckets. A few were pulling on gloves before collecting the medical waste that littered the inside of the bird - medics in a hurry didn't bother with bins, and Apaches didn't carry them anyway. The cameraman jostled in for a close up on the inside of the bird and then Burg was in the way, hosing it out and chatting to the ground crew.

"Will you be attending debrief?" Andy asked, standing just out of the way of the splashes of pink run off. Burg nodded without replying and the logo for the show faded over the bloody water running off the tarmac and sinking into the dry ground.

Phones were ignored this time as the people in the living room tried to reconcile the pain their gentle friend carried with the carefree exterior he usually showed. Daryl was leaning into Simon's side, his father's arm around him protectively.

"I guess that's why he hates the morgue," Brown muttered and then blushed when Jim shot him a fierce glance. Rafe shook his head.

"Why didn't he say anything? He's a decorated hero!" Rafe jumped up and started pacing, "Is he embarrassed by his actions? Is he ashamed of serving?"

"Easy, Rafe," Taggert soothed, "If I know Blair he didn't say anything because he felt there was nothing to say. I've noticed how quiet he is when someone brings up their own time in the forces and I'm guessing he feels…"

"Inadequate," Jim spoke up, and everyone stared at him in shock, "He refused to carry a gun or fight. That's something we all did. It's something we do daily. Sandburg would see his refusal to do so as a kind of betrayal of our ideals. So he wouldn't bring it up. It wouldn't matter how well he did - how high he got promoted. He wouldn't want to cause conflict."

"Jim's right," Simon spoke up, not lifting his cheek from the top of Daryl's head, "Sandburg's world view is really warped in some areas. This is probably one of them."

They thought about this and made their peace with it. Blair could be very diffident when it came to offering information about certain areas of his past. By the time they prized that information loose they realised he was reticent due to a misplaced sense of shame or embarrassment. Daryl stirred and reached for the now silent phone.

"Should we call Blair?" he asked, and Simon put out a hand to stop him.

"No - if we discuss this it should be in person…" he began and was shushed by Jim as the last commercial was replaced by the documentary logo and theme music.

The scene faded in. Finegan and Tallacy were standing at the edge of one of the cliffs that bordered the canyons that twisted through that part of the desert. Andy was standing next to Finegan in dramatic profile again. The shot unfroze and Andy turned off camera to call,

"Burg! The view is incredible! Are you coming to look?"

"No thanks, I can see just fine from here," Burg's voice called back and Tallacy turned to grin off camera and Finegan shook her head.

"Burg is afraid of heights," she told Andy, her voice amused and indulgent, "Weird, huh? The best pilot I've ever met is afraid of heights."

"I am not!" Burg stepped into shot indignantly. They were all wearing desert fatigues and he was an indignant blur as he paced forward, stopping before he got too close to the edge.

"It's a control thing," Burg sighed in resignation and glanced at Andy, "I don't like walking up to the edge of a long drop, knowing that if the edge gave way there's nothing I could do to stop it. I don't like to fly unless I'm at the stick either."

"The only competent pilot being you?" Andy mused, and Tallacy growled in disgust. Burg just laughed and shook his head.

"Nope - I just have control issues," he shrugged, not bothering to explain any further. Finegan moved away from the edge and smiled at Burg.

"My dad is the exact same way with his car - he's the only one who can drive it and he won't be a passenger in someone else's car if he can possibly avoid it," she said to Burg, ignoring Andy and the camera. Burg shrugged.

"Knowing my luck I'll get back to civilian life and end up working with someone who has the exact same issues," he chuckled and Tallacy laughed too, turning away from the view to join his crew mates.

"Now that's a fight I'd love to see," the big man rumbled, "In fact I'd pay real money to see that!"

"You wanna walk home, Sergeant Max?" Burg mock growled and they headed back for the jeep that they'd come in. Andy settled in the back with Burg and Finegan while Tallacy drove and the camera rode shot gun. Obviously Burg's 'issues' didn't extend to driving.

"So tomorrow, we go up together," Andy said, obviously excited. Finegan heaved a sigh that squashed Burg into Andy's side and Burg elbowed her a little.

"One of your team comes along with a small hand held camera," Burg clarified, "And we're just going to drop some supplies off to another base."

"That's ok. I just want to see how you all work together in the bird," Andy agreed. You got the sense that he was trying not to gloat.

"It's not a bird," Finegan mumbled and Burg glared at her.

"It's not a ride," he snapped immediately, and they began to argue. The scene had the air of an oft-played argument as they bickered back and forth, Burg's hands waving; Finegan sitting slouched and still.

The sound of the argument faded out and Andy faded in over the top of the still moving picture.

"We went up the next day. Sergeant Tallacy collected me from my tent and hurried me across to Apache Two. This was my first and only time in the air with this crew and I have to say I was impressed by the way they operated as a team. The flight didn't go according to plan - but you'll see for yourself what happened."

The scene behind Andy faded to black and then back in again. This footage was obviously shot from a camcorder. Burg was in full uniform, a pair of aviator's sunnies on his nose. He was sitting in the cockpit, hands on the controls, easy in his manner and whistling as he competently ran the pre-flight checks. Satisfied everything was in order he leaned out the open door and yelled,

"C'mon you two - I ain't got all day!"

"Coming dad!" Finegan and Tallacy chorused back and Burg grinned, slamming his door shut. Finegan and Tallacy ran over from where they'd been checking the last of their gear and climbed into the bird, tossing a couple of duffels up against Burg's seat and sliding the door shut against the sand now blowing around from the rotor wash.

"Damn kids," he growled and radioed their readiness.

"Are we there yet?" Finegan whined, sticking her head into the cockpit.

"She's looking at me," Tallacy added, sticking his head in too.

"I swear, I'll turn this helicopter right around," Burg laughed as they lifted away from the ground smoothly, "And get your butts behind the yellow line!"

Finegan and Tallacy laughed and settled back into the body of the bird as the base rapidly dwindled in the distance. Andy panned the camera around a little. The radio spat and crackled with various calls and code signs. Finegan and Tallacy lounged against the wall and talked over the noise of the rotors.

"Just a Sunday outing with the kids, huh?" Andy said to Burg who grinned, but didn't answer as he looked out the side window. The radio traffic was beginning to increase and Tallacy leaned back into the cockpit.

"What's the word?" he asked Burg, who shrugged and glanced out the side window again. Tallacy settled on the floor to listen to the radio and Andy focussed on him for a moment before panning to Finegan, who was asleep, finally panning to look at the desert rushing along underneath them.

The base they landed at was mostly underground - hastily excavated dug outs with canvass and camouflage roofing them in. A couple of soldiers appeared to square away the supplies and Finegan disappeared with Tallacy to check on a soldier. Burg leaned against the side of Apache Two to wait for them to return and Andy focussed on the totally still man for a moment, before the logo and theme music appeared.

"Woah - Hairboy can stand still?" Brown leaned back from the screen and shook himself a little. Everyone in the lounge had been leaning forward eagerly to get a glimpse of Blair doing his thing. True to form the phones went mad again, but they just ignored the noise in favor of each other.

"It looked ... wrong," Rafe shook his head, "In the bull pen he can't even sit still - he's always jiggling a leg or tapping a finger."

"Grooving to the music in his head," Taggert laughed fondly and the others laughed too. Jim frowned a little.

"That's what Connor called it," Taggert explained to Jim, "You were in court and Blair was at your desk doing your paperwork - as always - and she was staring in fascination. Then she muttered that under her breath and went back to work."

Jim smiled a little and Daryl chuckled.

"Blair looked good in the cockpit," Daryl said suddenly, "Like he was supposed to be there, you know?"

"Daryl, I learned a long time ago, that anything Sandburg sets his mind to do he masters," Simon chuckled, "Look at how much he's achieved."

"That's right," Taggert agreed, "I'd be surprised if he wasn't a competent pilot."

"Jim - why did Blair always do your paperwork?" Daryl asked now. As he was an innocent bystander, Jim refrained from the Glare of Death and opened his mouth to reply.

"Still does," Brown spoke up, and Jim glared at his colleague, who didn't back down. Rafe moved out of the line of Jim's glare, leaving his partner to defend himself.

"Thank God. When it comes to reports, Jim's are a little … sparse," Simon said dryly, "At least Sandburg can string more than five sentences together and make it interesting."

"Sir! I'm not that bad," Jim defended himself and Simon glared over at him.

"Jim, I swear to God - the last report you gave me read - and I quote - 'saw suspect, chased suspect, caught suspect, talk to Sandburg'," Simon growled and Jim blushed while the others howled with laughter. Daryl gasped for breath and leaned into his father who grinned at Jim in apology and put his hand on his son's shoulder. Jim shook his head and growled half-heartedly. The tension that had been building had dispersed.

"How long does this show run for?" Taggert asked when they'd calmed down. Daryl looked at his watch.

"It's an hour - so we've got fifteen minutes to go," he replied as the last commercial blurted from the screen, followed by theme music and the logo again.

The picture showed the inside of the chopper…

They were in the air again, and Tallacy sat on the floor again, listening to the radio as it crackled urgently. Finegan was crouched on the fold down jump seat nearby, leaning forward to listen too. The sound of the radio didn't come over clearly on the camcorder's mike. The viewer only got a sense of what was happening from the reactions of the people on the tape.

"They're in a world of hurt, there," Andy said and Burg shot him a sideways glance. Tallacy nodded in agreement as the calls from the team on the ground increased in urgency.

"C'mon, guys - get someone in there to pick them up," Finegan urged tensely, leaning forward and curling her hands into fists. The radio crackled and spat again.

"Do you know where they are?" Andy asked and Burg nodded, his hands white knuckled on the controls in front of him. Tallacy growled in frustration and pounded the floor as the calls crackled around them.

"What!" Finegan blurted, "How can they not send someone in?"

Burg grabbed the radio and sent his position to command along with his request to attempt pick up. Request denied. Finegan began swearing under her breath and Tallacy kicked Andy's seat really hard.

"We're not armed - they've got a point," Andy said softly, "But it still feels wrong."

"You guys got your vests?" Burg twisted his head a little and Finegan slapped him on the shoulder. Tallacy leapt up and hurried out of sight, returning with a flak vest.

"Can you put this on while we're in the air, or should we land?" he asked Burg who shook his head.

"We don't have time for that - besides the civilian will wear it. No arguments Andy - they'll court-martial me for this, but if you get shot they'll feed me into my own rotors feet first. Put it on," Burg ordered, "And I'm ordering you two to accompany me - for the record."

"For the record you'd have to throw me outta here," Finegan growled and Tallacy nodded as he shrugged into his own vest. Andy put the camera on the instrument panel and shrugged into the vest that Tallacy held out. Finegan and Tallacy went into the body of the bird and started rigging up safety harnesses. Burg sent the bird diving to the deck and the ground rushed along at mind numbing speed.

"What's the plan?" Andy asked and Burg glanced over at him.

"They're being headed towards a ravine - I'm gonna fly along the floor of the ravine and pop up. We get them in and get the hell out. I need you to stay quiet unless you see a threat - like another chopper or a grenade launcher or something like that. Can you do this?" Burg was reaching for the radio as he spoke and Andy agreed in a quick voice.

"Echo Kilo Six this is Apache Two. Head for the cliffs - we'll meet you there. ETA ten minutes. Confirm pick up," Blair broke in over HQ's refusal of help and a frantic voice sounded back immediately.

"Confirm the cliffs!"

"Apache Two - stand down! Do not enter the engagement! Stand down!" HQ roared and Burg ignored the order, sending the bird over the edge of the desert and into the twisting ravine. His face was calm yet intent as he followed the twists and turns at high speed. Andy turned the camera to the body of the bird in time to catch Finegan and Tallacy stepping into harness and securing themselves to the doorframe, lurching as the bird swung from side to side to avoid the walls.

"Ready to go!" Finegan yelled, "Opening up now!"

She and Tallacy grabbed the door and slid it open. Air roared in and the bird lurched before Burg got it trimmed again. The sides of the ravine seemed very close to the open door and Tallacy and Finegan had firm grips on the panic straps near the door, designed for just such an occasion.

"Apache Two! Where are you?" the radio howled. Burg replied in a voice so calm that it was almost surreal as he slowed their forward motion and slowly rose above the top of the ravine before sidling closer to the edge once the rotors had cleared it.

"Right here son."

They cleared the top of the ravine in a hail of small rocks, dust and bullets.

The trapped soldiers turned from their sparse cover behind a small outcrop of rocks and ran, dragging their wounded comrades.

"Jump!" Tallacy and Finegan roared and almost in slow motion the men leapt the short distance from the edge of the ravine to Apache Two, caught by waiting hands that hauled them in before reaching for the next man. Once in they gave covering fire to their comrades as best they could. A wounded soldier was thrown across and the last man leapt for safety in another hail of bullets. Andy flinched as the side window next to him shattered and the bird shuddered under the impacts.

"Go! Go! Go!" Finegan roared across the now overloaded body and Burg took them straight up, as fast as he could to get out of range before heading back to base.

"Andy - were you hit?" Burg's voice was tense and Andy shook his head."No - the window was the only casualty up here," he replied, before twisting to view the scene behind him. Burg's voice could be heard as he confirmed pick up over the radio and informed the MASH unit to stand by for casualties.

In the body of the plane wounded and terrified soldiers huddled on the floor while Finegan and Tallacy triaged and tended to them. The unwounded men were directed to the far side of the bird and told to strap in.

"Finegan," Burg called as the bird shuddered again, "Get them secure and close the door. We're damaged and she's fighting me. We could be looking at a hard landing. Tallacy - get the emergency webbing out."

"How bad?" Finegan yelled as she swung the door shut. Warning lights came on and the instruments started beeping loudly. The noise was urgent and annoying as the machine communicated its displeasure with its pilot.

"Bad enough," Burg's voice was forced as he struggled to steady his damaged machine and keep moving forward. The shudders were travelling through the controls as well as the frame of the machine and Burg was sweating heavily - the first sign of effort he'd shown. Finegan and Tallacy webbed the injured men to the floor and seats, continuing to treat their wounds as they did.

"How far are we from the base?" Finegan yelled as she put pressure on a leg wound. Burg frowned and glanced down at his instruments for a moment.

"Ten minutes from the nearest one - thirty from ours. I'm heading for the nearest!" Burg yelled back in that forced voice and the rotors missed a beat before picking up again.

"Don't do it honey - Keep going for me," Burg cajoled under his breath as he flicked switches and bit his lip. Andy shifted uneasily in his seat and Burg spared him a glance before concentrating on his piloting again.

They made the base - barely. The rotors faltered a few times on the way and the shuddering worsened. The bird was vibrating very badly as Burg eased their speed and lowered them to the pad where the ambulances were waiting. He cut the engine as the bird thumped down hard and leaned back tiredly, closing his eyes. Andy turned and caught the action as Finegan and Tallacy began unloading their passengers in order of priority, calling statistics and histories over the sound of the injured men and the corps men. The bird emptied slowly and Andy turned back to look at Burg.

His skin was a dirty yellow colour and he was sweating and shaking. His eyes were closed and he was gasping for breath.

"Omigod! Finegan!" Andy blurted and Finegan leaned into the cockpit.

"Tallacy! Get to the other side! He's been shot! Corps man - get me a stretcher!" Finegan roared, "Hurry!"

Burg moaned as his wound was compressed and he was pulled carefully out of his cockpit and onto a stretcher. Tallacy started an IV before taking one end from the corps man and heading for the nearest ambulance. Andy ran to keep up, the picture jouncing.

"Stay with me Burg," Finegan urged as she tried to stop the bleeding while she ran alongside the stretcher.

"Look at my damn bird. I just had it washed," Burg's voice was thin and reedy.

"Forget the damn bird. Don't you go out on me! Burg!"

The logo and the theme music cut over the image and everyone swore.

"Relax, guys. We know he's alive," oddly enough Daryl was the voice of reason and Jim backed him up a few minutes later.

"He was shot in the appendix," Jim said it dully, "It's the only scar that matched the wound site. He told me his appendix burst once - he said he was away from help and the infection was a nasty one."

"But he survived - and he was a damn hero too!" Daryl leapt up, "I don't want to see the end of the show dad - I want to talk to Blair!"

Simon handed over the phone and everyone watched as Daryl first cleared the line and then called the loft. He listened eagerly and Jim extended his hearing too. The answering machine picked up. There was no response to Daryl's requests for Blair to pick up and Jim took the phone from the teen.

"Chief? I'm on my way home - it's ok. You all right? Pick up for me, Chief," Jim waited a moment and then handed the phone back to Daryl, who hung up.

"Can I come, Jim?" Daryl asked eagerly, "I mean, he must have known it was on - look at the way our phone went nuts. I want to tell him I'm not mad he never said anything."

Jim looked at the teen and then the others in the room.

"Is anyone mad at him?" Jim asked bluntly, "'Cause if you are I need to know. He doesn't need to be outed like this and then attacked for his beliefs."

"We're good," Taggert spoke for everyone, "In fact I want to tell him that too."

"And us," Rafe jerked his thumb between himself and Brown, who nodded in agreement and stood up.

"We'll meet you there, guys," Simon stood and Daryl ran to get his coat. People hurried out to their cars - lights were flipped on, but not sirens - and they all headed for Prospect.

Jim paused outside the door to the loft and held up his hand for quiet. He focussed his hearing into the loft and Daryl gaped as his father put a hand on Jim's arm to anchor him. It was the first time the teen had seen Jim openly use the senses he had denied to the world.

"Oh no," Jim exclaimed and unlocked the door. Blair was huddled against the door to his room, a packed bag beside him. His breathing rattled in his chest - the cold had turned to bronchitis again.

"Jim," Blair wheezed when his Sentinel reached him, "I'm so sorry. I'll go … you don't have to…"

"Shhh," Jim gathered him close, "Don't leave me. Stay. I'm not mad, Chief. Stay with me, please."

Jim rocked the sick man, feeling the fever and tremors and lung congestion that wracked his friend's body. Simon straightened the scattered blankets and pillows on the couch and Taggert helped Jim carry Blair to them while Brown and Rafe made hot water in the kitchen. They carried the steaming bowl over and placed it near Blair - hoping to ease the congestion a little.

"Should I call a doctor?" Daryl asked nervously as Jim smoothed Blair's face and whispered in his ear. Simon shook his head and stepped back a little.

"Let Jim take care of him - he knows what to do," Simon soothed, "Help me unpack that bag."

Father and son put away the photo of Jim and the few clothes that Blair had stuffed into the pack and put the pack back in the cupboard. When they stepped out of the small room Taggert was sitting on the coffee table behind Jim, who knelt on the floor. Rafe was next to Taggert and Brown stood at Blair's feet. Simon stood at the back of the couch near Brown; Daryl stood near Blair's head. Jim was still stroking Blair's sweaty face and he looked up at Daryl as the teen fidgeted. Daryl took that as an invitation and leaned over Blair to make eye contact.

"Blair?" he asked and Blair looked up sadly, waiting for condemnation, "I … I guess I just wanted to ask if you're coming to the ball game with us on Saturday. Will you be ok?"

Simon felt pride rush through him. Daryl hadn't asked awkward questions or blurted out something about heroes. His son had shown in the best way possible that he was still Blair's friend. That he still wanted that friendship.

"Hey - if he's not we can all come here," Taggert spoke up, "Camp out on the couch and yell at the box."

Blair's eyes widened in surprise and gratitude.

"I'll bring the beer," Brown volunteered and Rafe nodded. They made eye contact with the sick man, letting their faces say what their mouths couldn't.

"I'll bring the snacks, or some at least," Rafe added. Taggert seconded that idea.

"We should probably just plan on being here anyway - it takes a while to get over bronchitis. What time do you want us here, Blair?" Simon spoke up and Blair took a breath. Whatever he was going to say was lost as he started coughing. Simon herded his men to the door, telling them to go home. Jim tossed his cell phone to Simon and the Captain called the precinct doctor while Jim rubbed Blair's chest to ease the cramps.

Epilogue

Blair sat on the couch - his first day out of bed - and looked around at his friends. They were yelling at the game and munching salty snacks and making bets with each other noisily. He grinned over at Jim, who grinned back and handed him a glass of juice - the antibiotics made alcohol a no-no. Daryl was bouncing next to Blair in excitement and Blair moved his glass to avoid accidents.

"Did you see that?"

"C'mon Ref!"

"Aw man!"

Blair grinned and sipped his juice. If raising his voice didn't make him cough he'd be yelling too - that was a blatant foul.

The Jags forced a last minute tie and Jim turned the sound down in disgust.

"They gotta do better than that if they want to move up the ladder," Jim growled and watched Rafe pay Taggert and Simon pay Brown. Daryl looked over at Blair and bit his lip a little.

"What's up Daryl? I can see a question hovering," Blair grinned at the youth.

Daryl grinned back and wondered if he should be honest. Blair saved him the trouble; "You want to know about that documentary, right? About me being in the Air Force?"

"Yeah," Daryl nodded and realised that everyone was looking at Blair. Blair looked back and nodded.

"I never said anything because … well I didn't want to dishonor the Forces. I mean look at how high they promoted me! I'm a pacifist for Petes sake!" Blair shook his head.

"Credit where credit is due, man," Jim shrugged, "All I did was survive in the jungle - something they trained me to do. You - you went above and beyond."

"Hmm," Blair shook his head, "If you think so, Jim. I don't want to argue about that. So Daryl, I assume you saw the rescue I pulled?"

"You were shot and you still got them to safety. You're a hero," Daryl grinned and Blair frowned in displeasure. Simon put a warning hand on his son's shoulder. Blair's face held faint lines of pain. Rafe and Brown leaned closer to the sick man, and Taggert came to sit on the coffee table. There was acceptance and support in their eyes, and it seemed to give Blair strength.

"A hero is the guy who does something he's had no training or preparation for on the behalf of total strangers. I was doing my job, Daryl. That's how I see it, ok?" he told the teen, "I woke up a week later with a nasty infection and a lawyer. They gave me a pension and a discharge - Andy's tapes kind of played in my defense. I came back here, grew my hair and that was the end of it."

"Why were you leaving? Did you see the documentary?" Taggert spoke up before anyone else could. Blair shook his head.

"Not really," he sighed, "The phone went nuts, though - I guess it was in the first ad break. I found it and saw enough to know that … Jim, I'm sorry, but the last thing I hid from you … you said I'd betrayed you and threw me out. Better to go than be kicked this time. If I'd been thinking…"

"You'd know I would track you down and bring you back. We both know running is not the answer," Jim growled, cursing Alex and fear-based responses, "Chief, you should have seen the Station this week. Anyone who's ever worked with you is walking around bursting with pride."

"I don't..." Blair leaned his head back, getting tired. Jim sighed and leaned over to put a hand on his shoulder.

"Do you trust me, Chief?" Jim asked and Blair nodded quietly, "Then until you're over this bronchitis trust me when I say there is no one at the Station who thinks less of you for what you've done."

"Yeah," Taggert put a hand on Blairs leg and he smiled at them all as they made agreeing noises. Jim stood and the others took their cue to leave so Blair could rest.

Jim shut the door and grinned over at his Guide.

"Your past is your past, Blair. You can't betray me by not telling me about it. The memories must have been painful for you to decide not to share. And I wasn't exactly forthcoming about my time in the Rangers either. Let's just chalk this one up to life and its tricks - ok?"

"Ok," Blair agreed, grinning back. A weight lifted off his shoulders as Jim shook his head and started cleaning up. Alex Barnes had taught them a lot about communicating. A hard lesson to be sure, but one that stood them in good stead today.

"So I suppose I should tell you about the nude centerfold I posed for for the money back when I was going for my Bachelors?" Blair said seriously and watched Jim drop the popcorn.

…End?

Author's note: I am not American. Any ideas or information I have about Desert Storm comes from movies. And what I know about Air Force jargon comes from the same source. I hereby acknowledge my lack of knowledge - please ignore anything that was blatantly wrong. Like the ranks.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer – I don't own, I get no money from this, etc

Warning – none

Sequel to Apache

Apache part 2

0o0o0o0o

Detective Blair Sandburg gaped in astonishment at the organised chaos of the emergency services swarming around his precinct. Sirens and lights flashed everywhere as men and women shouted and moved urgently. The paramedics and EMT's were swarming like flies among the people from the PD, checking and treating the multitude of injuries and complaints.

"Damn, a man can't even go to court for the day without them getting in to some kind of trouble," Blair mumbled, ignoring firmly the idea that he was the department mascot for attracting trouble. After today they'd never be able to blame the weird things that happened on him again. Blair restrained the impulse to slap his forehead in disgust. What was he talking about? Of course they would.

"Sandburg!" Phil Anderson from Homicide waved and Blair jogged over quickly. Anderson was one of the cops outside Major Crimes that had accepted him after the thesis mess. The detective was leaning against a squad car, while his partner sat in the rear passenger seat with an oxygen mask.

"Hey Anderson. Macready, you all right?" Blair greeted them, looking at the pale face of the seated cop. Even Macready's fiery red hair seemed pale at the moment. If Central wasn't secure, then what was?

"Yeah," the cop rasped through the mask, "Jest dandy."

"What the hell happened?" Blair asked Anderson, watching the other man fuss over his partner.

"Something went off in Major Crimes. A gas of some kind. We've got unconscious people all over the place - it looks like a terrorist attack. Your people were fished out alive - I guess they've been taken in to hospital already. They recalled you from court?"

The last comment was a reference to the sombre dark suit that Blair had bought specifically for court after he'd graduated from the academy. That was a year ago and a lot of water under the bridge.

"Yeah, I was just told that Central was 911 and to get down here. Do you know which hospital they're using?" Blair looked around nervously. Gas meant chemical reactions and the Sentinel would be doubly vulnerable without his Guide. Spikes and zones were nearly nonexistent nowadays as Jim's control became almost second nature. Whenever they did hit it was a sign of some environmental hazard or an incipient illness.

"General, I think," Anderson replied and Blair nodded his thanks before heading over to the command post. He checked in and got permission to head over to the hospital to act as liaison there. The good news was that the gas was not a fatal toxin - it merely knocked people out. Whoever had done this was surprisingly not looking for a body count.

General was busy, and at first the nursing staff tried to fob him off, but Blair pointed out that there were quite a few men back there who'd just been gassed and carried concealed weapons. That got him the access he needed to the patients. He made a list of who was there and collected guns and other weaponry, depositing them in a plastic tub on a trolley and noting down what came from who so there wouldn't be any arguments. He got to the end of the casualties and turned the weapons over to a uniformed cop who was standing at the door. Then he put in a priority call to the Commissioner.

Of all the people in the ER at General, five were missing. His Captain, his partner, Rafe and Brown and Taggert. There was more to the attack than had first appeared.

Jim watched from the corner where he was tied as the rest of his people woke. The hut they were in was small and cold, built in the middle of Kincaid's compound. The Sentinel had awakened from the gas much earlier, and Jim would have liked to play possum to find out what was going on and use the first opportunity to turn tables on their captors. Unfortunately the Sentinel's senses were off the scale and he'd woken screaming in pain and throwing up what felt like every meal he'd had in the last month. They'd restrained him and then hosed him off once they reached this location before throwing him in with his still unconscious and unrestrained colleagues. The cold air and wet clothes were rapidly sending Jim into hypothermia, though at least he wasn't forced to wallow in the smell of his own bile. Hearing spiked irregularly and thankfully touch and taste were shut down. His sense of smell was working as normal, though he hadn't turned it up and his eyesight was also behaving for now.

Unable to respond to Simon's concerned questions - his teeth were chattering too hard and he was shaking with the cold too violently, Jim could only grimace in gratitude as his wrists were undone and his friends put their coats around him. Taggert and Simon added their body warmth, sandwiching him between them. Rafe and Brown moved carefully around the nearly pitch black - to them - hut.

"What the hell's going on Simon," Taggert muttered, "One minute we're in the office, then we're here."

"K-k-k-k-k-k-k-k-inc-c-c-c-aihhhhhd-d-d-d-d-d-d," Jim stuttered out between bouts of shivering. He was starting to feel a little warmed by their efforts and Simon's large hands were rubbing his wrists and hands gently.

"Kincaid? He's out?" Simon asked and Jim managed a stiff nod. Taggert sighed and put his arm around Jim's waist to keep the detective warm while Rafe and Brown muttered threats under their breath. The survivalist was not their favourite person. His band of merry men were nutcases at the best of times, but with their leader back on the job…

"Shit," Rafe summed it up in a weary tone, "And I'm betting we're not in Cascade any more."

"You got that right, Toto," Brown replied gloomily. They were keeping their voices low and their movements as quiet as possible in an effort to avoid the notice of their captors while they figured out their situation.

"Any idea how long we were out?" Taggert asked Jim quietly and Jim shook his head. Brown checked his watch. It had the date on the face as well as the usual time.

"Holy shit!" he hissed, "It's ten o'clock, Tuesday night!"

"But we were in the Monday morning meeting!" Rafe protested while Simon swore softly in Jim's ear. When there was no reaction from the Sentinel, Simon frowned and cupped Jim's face, turning it so he could look at the dazed eyes.

"Damn, Ellison, this stuff has really messed you up. I thought you were just cold," he fretted, wondering how Blair would have overcome this particular problem.

"Is it a Sentinel thing or an allergy thing?" Joel asked worriedly, "Trust our luck - Blair's not here to take care of him."

"Thank god," Brown said fervently, "Can you imagine how much worse things would be with Hairboy here? He and Ellison have bested Kincaid twice now - and you and the Captain weren't exactly on his Christmas card list either."

"Neither will you two be - he's a racist asshole on a mild day. And in his books Jim's a traitor to the Aryan ideal anyway - he works with us and actually likes it," Taggert reminded them, "Major Crimes is practically a poster for the original Rainbow Family."

"Yeah well, he can kiss my rainbow butt," Rafe growled, "Sandburg will get us out - he won't wait for the Feds to muck this up. All we have to do is survive until then."

Simon nodded quietly, trying not to disturb his detective who had finally succumbed and put his head down on Simon's shoulder, his face pressed to the warm skin of his boss's neck. Simon had seen the Sentinel do this with his Guide and only hoped that his scent would provide a suitable substitute.

Forty-eight hours after the attack, Blair entered the loft alone. They'd found their people - or rather they'd found out what had happened to them. It was not good news. The Feds were all over this like white on rice and Blair had been ordered home to rest. He stripped out of his suit mechanically, putting it back into its bag to go to the cleaners.

Kincaid had escaped from prison. The notification to Major Crimes had got lost in the system. The Sunrise Patriots had somehow managed to get their hands on enough gas to knock out two floors of the Central precinct, and then gone in under cover as medics to kidnap five members of the Cascade PD in a daring act of vengeance. Blair thought it might have been six, but he'd been in court all day.

He dressed carefully and dug out his phone book. According to the FBI, the Patriots had a compound deep in the middle of some serious wilderness. They were talking rocky terrain, mountains, cliffs, steep valleys and dense forest. The terrain totally ruled out a quick insertion and rescue effort by the PD or the Feds. They were also talking about trying to get in touch with the Patriots to start hostage negotiations. Blair knew it would be a waste of time. Kincaid would jerk them along until he had killed them all off - maybe shelling out a body at a time and meanwhile torturing the survivors.

Sitting by the phone, Blair opened his address book. He really could have used Jim's Covert ops contacts right about now, in fact if he had been taken instead of Jim there was a good chance they'd be out by now. Ellison didn't hang around. He jumped when it rang under his hand and then cursed himself for a twitchy idiot.

"Sandburg," he identified himself, picking up the receiver and not in the mood for telemarketing right this minute.

"It's me," Daryl Banks voice was choked and Blair's gut tightened in sympathy, "Blair? Have you heard anything?"

"Hey Daryl," his voice was as gentle as he could make it, "No, I haven't heard anything. The Feds are trying to contact the Patriots and they sent me home."

"You won't give up, right?" Daryl begged, "Please, Blair. The Feds don't care like we do. Those Patriots are nuts…you gotta help my dad!"

In the background Joan's voice didn't sound happy as she evidently interrupted Daryl's unsanctioned phone call.

"I promise," Blair said firmly just as Joan's voice rose and the teen turned away to try and placate her. The phone cut out in mid word and Blair sighed. He hung up then called out on the line. He'd been around the block, and though his contacts weren't as impressive as Jim's he had enough to get the job done. He wasn't going to wait for the Feds. Not when his tribe needed him.

No one came near the captives until Wednesday night. They'd huddled close together for warmth - the autumn air was very cold - and during the day only a few men were seen, walking from one building to another at irregular intervals. The lack of food was starting to tell, as they'd last eaten the morning of their capture, and so was the lack of water. Kincaid obviously wasn't too interested in humanitarian rights.

They had some warning that they were about to be visited when three heavily armed men walked a fourth over towards the hut. The walls had gaps and knot holes that let them see out, and the five men spread out silently at Jim's command. He'd woken with his senses mostly back on line, though touch was still a little off.

Two of the gunmen entered first and stood with their backs to the wall, out of reach of the cops and safe from sneak attacks. The third gunman stayed outside while the fourth man stepped in, dumped two buckets on the floor silently and then walked straight back out. The gunmen backed out and the door was slammed and locked again.

"Cooked rice and water," Jim's voice was quiet, "Both free of contaminants."

"I see," Simon sighed. Jim had been able to locate anti-personnel mines around the compound, the sentries that watched over them and a TV tuned to the Cascade news - and the reports of their kidnapping. His senses were as balanced as they could get without his Guide and he wouldn't let his friends touch anything that he wasn't sure was safe.

They divided the rice up and ate it quickly - the cold congealing mess tasteless and unappetising. The water bucket was also visited, though they rationed that out a little, in case Kincaid decided not to water or feed them regularly. The rice wouldn't have kept, but the water would.

When the meagre meal was finished they moved back to their posts along the walls to keep watch on their captors. By unspoken agreement, Jim had tried sensing to the north, south and west for possible escape routes, now Simon acted as a temporary guide while he canvassed the east. After long tense minutes, Jim slumped and shook his head.

"No good," he reported, "There's a cliff there - we'd need proper gear and time to climb down it. We won't get either with them shooting at us."

"Ok, plan b," Taggert spoke up, "We don't sneak out - we bust out, grab ourselves some weapons and transport and make a run for it."

"That's gonna be pretty hard to do," Jim turned and slid down the wall, uncharacteristically depressed. His clothes were chafing and his skin burned from the cool touch of the late autumn air. The touch dial was acting up with a vengeance and threatening to take all his other dials with it.

"Take it easy, Jim, just turn it all down for now. Those drugs are still messing with your system. We'll take the watch for now," Simon advised him and Jim closed his eyes in defeat. What a paradox. He needed - hell he wanted - his Guide there to help put everything back together properly, and at the same time he wanted the man as far away from the danger as possible. Pity they couldn't just phone it in. Realising that he was making no sense, even in his own head, Jim let sleep claim him.

Blair looked across the lofts dining table at the ex marine. He might have left the service to become a merc, but he still had an inside line with the Feds. What they knew about Kincaid's compound the marine knew.

"Mines?" he asked in disbelief, "Hell, he's probably got air to ground missiles as well!"

"There is a possibility, you're right," the other man nodded, "I don't know what to tell you, Burg. We can't get in there quietly, but in a running battle your people might get killed. That's what's holding the feebs back from simply storming the place. Too high a body count. That and the damn rules that say these idiots still have rights. In my opinion a good offence and a bulldozer to level the place is the only way to go. Only problem is I can't see how to ensure your people aren't killed."

"Hendricks, that is not an option," Blair said coldly, "What about this cliff? Could your people climb it?"

"Yeah," Hendricks nodded, "I suppose we could. It would be difficult at night, but there's no point. We can't get back down it again with your people - there's no telling what condition they'll be in."

"You wouldn't need to climb down it," Blair told him, thinking hard, "You'd just need to jump from the cliff to a bird. You've done it before, I've seen you."

Hendricks looked up, rubbing the scar on his cheek that had been a permanent reminder of his one and only flight with the pilot he'd known as Burg. The CIA had been running some kind of op, using his team as cannon fodder. Burg had defied orders to pick them up, got shot and still flown the badly damaged bird to a MASH unit safely. He'd been discharged after a failed court-martial. How the hell he'd ended up a cop with long hair and an attitude must be a wild story, and Hendricks would make it a point to ask one day.

"Yeah, that would work," he agreed slowly, "I could get you a bird."

He'd made sure that the pilot had his number in case he ever needed anything. He owed Burg his life, and Hendricks was a man who paid his debts. Beside, it was always a good idea to know a pilot - you never knew when you might need one, especially one that was out of the mercenaries loop. Most merc pilots were well known among the game - knowing an outsider was a handy back up. This would be Burg's initiation into the world of merc's.

"I haven't flown since I picked you guys up," Blair frowned. He wanted to be free to get to Jim and the others, not stuck in a cockpit.

"You're the only pilot we've got," Hendricks replied a little untruthfully, "It's you or a battle."

Blair sighed and hung his head for a moment. He wasn't too worried about his ability to pilot a chopper again - he'd been one of the best once, and the skills were good anytime. The faceless casualties he'd ferried back to base hadn't been as precious as the cargo he'd be flying home if everything went according to plan.

Hendricks watched Burg lift his head and nod.

"Right, lets do it," the man said calmly, "How long until we're good to go?"

They'd come for Simon the next morning, taking him out of the hut quite easily. The door had been opened, a stun grenade thrown in and then in the aftermath Simon was simply gone. Jim had tried to focus reeling senses on his temporary guide, but it had been no good. The tension among the cops was high as they waited for some sign of Simon's fate.

By noon Jim had alerted them to their captors approach. Simon was being dragged between two men and the cops stood back on command as their leader was dumped unconscious just inside the door. A quick examination showed that he'd been beaten hard and then knocked out. Jim could detect no internal injuries, or broken bones- whoever had done this was an expert.

They were gassed again that night, a lighter dose this time, and woke with Rafe missing. He was returned at dawn. Simon was awake by then - he'd told the others that the beating was taped. Kincaid was there, posturing and spouting rhetoric like the loser he was. Rafe's arm was broken, and Brown had to be restrained from attacking the walls of their cage in anger. They might not have the Sentinel/Guide bond that Jim and Blair shared, but the people in Major Crimes were closer than family.

Jim's senses were once more acting up - the second dose of gas had wiped out his control. One minute they were spiking, the next they shut down. He went blind for an hour and spent the morning completely deaf. Simon was doing his best to help control the spikes, but his scent was marred with pain and blood, which threw Jim's abilities into Protector Overdrive. Towards sun down his hearing spiked and drew him to the eastern wall.

"There's someone on the cliff," he whispered softly, "I think I can hear them climbing."

"Jim, are you sure?" Simon whispered back, "Is it the Feds?"

"No, I don't think so," Jim frowned, "I…damn, it's gone again."

"Let's just be ready to go," Simon sat up carefully, "Taggert, you and Brown take Rafe."

The sharply dressed detective was still out - they figured he had a pretty significant concussion. Jim's sense of touch had deserted him so they couldn't be sure.

"What about you, Simon?" Taggert frowned. The tall man was still moving stiffly - the cold and lack of medical treatment hadn't helped the bruising from his beating.

"I'll take care of Simon," Jim didn't look away from the wall, where he was trying to send errant senses back over the cliff to confirm what he'd heard.

"Heads up," Taggert hissed suddenly, "Buckets approaching."

The cops moved back as they were once more fed and watered with a bucket of something or other and water. Simon moved over to the offering stiffly, peering inside the food bucket.

"Oatmeal," he announced, "And the usual water. Jim? Do you think it's safe?"

Jim moved away from the wall and bent over to sniff. Chemicals made his eyes water and his nose burn and he reeled back, gasping and choking.

"No!" he coughed and Simon gave a panicked shout, pulling the Sentinel away and trying to block the odour from the oatmeal. Brown shoved the bucket over into the far corner and dropped his jacket over it.

"What is it Jim?" Simon held the trembling man in his arms and rocked them both gently, the only comfort he could offer. Jim was becoming more and more diminished as his wild senses attacked him at the slightest provocation.

"Drugged," Jim choked out, "Don't eat it, bad."

"We won't, now dial it back down. Come on, Jim, find the dial and turn it down. You can do this, I've seen you," Simon urged. Jim buried his face in Simon's neck again and the two men rocked quietly for a while, the men climbing the cliff forgotten.

Burg checked his watch again and then went back to stripping down the tail assembly. It had given him a few little hiccups on the way to the insertion point and he'd decided to give it another once over. Hendricks was good at 'procuring' things on the quiet. He had no idea where this bird had come from and quite frankly didn't care as long as it did its job.

He'd flown the three-man team into the valley and dropped them into a clearing out of sight of the compound under the cover of darkness. He had his radio set up and ready to receive confirmation as the pick up time drew closer - but he'd be in the air by then. Things would be tight and there was no room for mistakes. They were going to do this at sunset - the lower sun giving Burg some cover to hide in, and the noise the merc's would be making would also disguise the sound of the rotors.

Putting the cover back in place Burg stowed the toolkit and checked the interior of the bird. The first aid kit was well stocked and strapped in place, as were the emergency blankets and rations. He had no idea what the hostage's condition would be, so they planned for as wide a range of possibilities as they could.

The pilot sat on the edge of the cargo bay and ate a couple of ration bars while reviewing the map one more time. He checked his watch again and nodded, folding everything away and securing the door open for the flight. The added drag would increase fuel consumption but they had a fuel dump they could get to nearby, and there was no guarantee that he'd be able to land and let someone open the door for him.

He got into the cockpit and started the pre-flight, then powered up and let the bird rise gently from the ground. His old skill had come flowing back on the first flight, now the lightest of touches were used to steer the bird high in the sky and around to where he wanted it. He headed for the distant cliffs, hearing the radio crackle and then burst to life as the extraction team made their move.

"Burg! Three minutes!"

"Got it," he replied calmly, adding a touch of speed to arrive precisely thirty seconds before the deadline. There was some small arms fire and the team and hostages were heading for him at a dead run - one hostage was down, the others mobile. He drifted the skids over the edge of the cliff in a dangerous move and listened as they all piled in while Hendricks used the grenade launcher on his gun to suppress the Patriots and the second merc added suppressing fire. Then Hendricks was in and he was climbing fast, straight up, listening as a few slugs impacted the belly of the bird.

Then they were out of range and headed straight into the sun, obscuring their departure.

"Have they got air support?" Burg yelled over the wind still rushing through the bird, "Shut the damn door!"

"No air support that we could see - it's possible they've got a strip elsewhere though," Hendricks replied, climbing into the other seat up front, "No casualties on our part, a few on theirs."

Burg didn't really give a shit about the Patriots, though he welcomed the news about the hostages. He dropped to the deck once they were out of direct sight of the Patriots and changed course, heading for the fuel dump. The extra weight was slowing them down, but he wasn't about to tell anyone to get out and walk.

"ETA to dump, twenty minutes!" he informed Hendricks and the man nodded, turning to tell the people in the belly of the bird. Burg just grinned and concentrated on his flying. They'd done it - and nothing would stop them now. The tribe was reunited.

Simon leaned back against the wall and watched the two mercenaries reload and secure the helicopter's interior for normal flight. For a moment it had been like world war three in the compound, and then the leader had broken the out of the hut, telling them to make for the chopper while he covered them. They hadn't waited for introductions or reunions, just grabbed Rafe and moved.

"Damn Ellison, you've got good contacts," he said to the man slumped beside him. Jim's head shook quietly, a very wary and slightly hostile look on his face.

"They're not mine, Simon - I've got no idea who these people are. Hell, for all I know we've just been kidnapped again," he confessed wearily.

"How are…you know?" Simon asked quietly and Jim grimaced. Beside them Taggert and Brown were settling Rafe on the floor, checking that they hadn't hurt him worse in the sudden run to the chopper.

"I'm turned down to absolute normal - I just can't take any more spikes," he confessed reluctantly. Simon nodded and gave his people a little 'heads up' gesture. The Sentinel was off line - that still left Jim's rather formidable talents as a Ranger and cop. And he wasn't without a trick or two either.

The flight lasted twenty minutes and then they were landing in a clearing, the rotors slowing as the engines were switched off. The pilot and the merc up front jumped out and Jim opened the rear door to watch what was going on.

"Refuelling," one of the men still inside told him as he slid past Jim to go help, "Stay in the chopper. We're moving out again the minute we're done. Snake - shake a leg."

Snake was evidently the third merc, he got out too and started helping under strict instructions from the pilot, who jogged over to the belly of the chopper once the refuelling was under way.

"Blair?" Jim breathed in astonishment and his Guide nodded. His hair was scraped back and there was something in the way he moved…

"You guys ok? What happened to Rafe?" he looked them over but didn't climb inside. His Sentinel had a pretty firm grip on him by now, which was going to make flying difficult. He waited out the storm of exclamations and speculation, relieved to hear that they thought Rafe would be all right. Jim looked like shit, but a few words from Simon explained that.

"Here," Blair stripped off the jacket he wore, the body armour underneath readily apparent, "Wear this Jim and relax. We've got another hour to go before we make it to the hangar. We'll have you guys back in Cascade in no time."

"Burg! Ready to go!" Hendricks called and Blair slipped away from them, replaced with the man they'd only ever seen once - in a recording. He moved away to double check everything and then they loaded up again and the chopper lifted off as gently as a feather on the breeze.

Jim settled down to lean hard against the pilot's seat, his Guide's jacket draped over him like a blanket. The longed for scent soon sent him off to sleep despite the danger that still shadowed their escape.

Epilogue

Jim looked up as Blair entered the loft. Their return had been rather a sensation among the Feds. Blair had tipped them off to the intended rescue along with some faked information from a non existent informant that Kincaid intended to kill his hostages sooner rather than later. The Feds were mopping up now and the people from Major Crimes were on leave for another week to 'recover from their ordeal' - as the Commissioner had put it in his interview with Don Haas.

Blair had worked very solidly with Jim to get the rampant senses under control, ruthlessly testing and demanding until Jim could go for twelve hours without the need to touch or ground himself in his Guide. Jim knew that his endurance would increase again over time - he wasn't as worried about this loss of control as he would have been a year or so ago.

They'd run out of food in the loft and Blair had gone out for more - grocery shopping and take out as neither man felt in the mood to really cook lately. Once the senses were behaving they'd declared a holiday and turned into real couch potatoes - watching hours of sport and movies and generally goofing off. Neither felt like going outside - the press was still interested in interviewing the 'brave hostages' and Jim didn't really want to get busted down to traffic duty for slugging a reporter.

There was something - or rather someone - he'd much rather grapple with. His partner had once again risen magnificently to the occasion and performed above and beyond the call of duty. And not, unfortunately, in the bedroom where that sentence could take on a whole new meaning. Ever since the thesis mess, Jim had been contemplating his partner and exactly how the man fit into his life. After a year he'd come up with a one-word answer to that question that fit the bill: perfectly.

He knew about the senses - hell he understood, accepted and was comfortable with them. He knew about Jim's family and so called childhood. He knew that Jim's past wasn't all hearts and roses, and he accepted the demons that went with it. He knew all about the ex - Jim's wife and girlfriends, criminal or otherwise. He knew all of Jim's little personality quirks - nine thousand, four hundred and thirty one on a good day and counting. He knew about the pressures of Jim's job - hell, he shared them.

Jim knew his roommate was bi - Blair had confessed it while cleaning up the loft after Larry trashed it all those years ago. He'd occasionally smelt men on his friend after a night out - or on several occasions an afternoon in. Jim hadn't done much more than experiment in high school and a few locker room fumbles later on. Despite his time in Vice, Jim wasn't all that experienced with men - with most of them his mind just didn't go there. With Blair it did. He wanted to know his Guide in a much more intimate manner, but at the same time didn't want to just become his bed warmer.

Given the ordeal with Kincaid and the fact that either one of them could 'buy the farm' in the course of their duties, Jim had decided this week that he was going to come clean to Sandburg and then hope they could get down and dirty. He knew that he loved the guy - and he was ninety nine percent sure he was loved back - you don't let even a good friend throw up on you and then complain bitterly about the smell for two days in a row without some serious emotions behind it all. Not to mention the tender care lavished on said whining friend with patience a saint would admire.

"Hey big guy, you in there?" Blair called from the kitchen where he was unpacking the last bag, "Dinner's at the door - you want to give me a hand and take care of that?"

"Sorry Chief, my mind wandered," Jim heard the knock again and got up, fishing the money out of the communal pouch they kept in the basket by the door for just such an occasion. He took the delivery of Thai food and started dishing up while Blair washed his hands and fished out beers for them both.

Dinner was consumed in companionable silence, and the clean up let that silence stretch on. Blair glanced at him a few times, but evidently decided to let Jim say whatever was on his mind when he was good and ready.

"I love you," Jim muttered as Blair went to wipe the table down.

"I love you too, Jim," Blair smiled over at him, some freak echo telling him what the Sentinel had muttered, "Is that what's been bothering you?"

"Not bothering," Jim confessed, a little off balance, "Just…didn't want you to misunderstand me."

"I would never misunderstand those words, Jim. I love you."

Jim went and put his arms around his Guide, inhaling the spicy scent and bending for a taste. Blair opened to him happily and they spent long minutes necking lightly.

"So, wanna go somewhere comfortable and teach me how to love a man?" Jim suggested and Blair's smile warmed him right through.

"Sure, would."

They made it as far as the couch…but that's another story…

mwahahahahahahahaha


End file.
